Too Rich for a Bride (18 page)

Few folks approved of a woman being as involved in business affairs as Mollie O’Bryan was. Most didn’t take well to a woman making as much money as a man did. But Kat knew her older sister. Ida would jump in and fulfill her ambitions with gusto, no matter the obstacles, despite any objections.

Kat crossed Bennett Avenue, dodging a mule train bent on cutting the corner.

Mollie O’Bryan’s Stenography Firm stood in the block between First and Second Streets. The narrow brick building had a cast-iron storefront and lace curtains in the windows on either side of the door. Kat stepped inside, expecting to see Ida sitting behind her desk.

Instead, Miss O’Bryan sat in Ida’s chair, holding a telephone earpiece in one hand and the microphone with the other. Wearing a cream-colored shirtwaist with brown ribbons woven into a lacy bodice, the businesswoman looked more primed for a soiree than for answering telephones and greeting people walking in off the street.

Ida’s employer acknowledged Kat with a glance and pointed at three burgundy armchairs near the door.

Kat seated herself and studied the offering of magazines on the table beside her.
The Century Magazine, Munsey’s Magazine
, and
Harper’s Bazar
. Kat unbuttoned her cape and picked up the October edition of
Munsey’s Magazine
, resisting the temptation to admire her pen name in
Harper’s Bazar
.

“That’s what he dictated to Ida,” Miss O’Bryan said into the telephone. “They found a new vein, Charles.”

Kat tried to focus on the magazine, but she couldn’t avoid overhearing
Miss O’Bryan’s side of the conversation. Mollie O’Bryan whispered louder than most people spoke on a moving train.

“Yes, well, you can bet I’m buying plenty before word spreads.”

Before word spreads
. Was Mollie O’Bryan making her money off early information? That had to be what Judson meant. Kat felt her face flush. Was the woman using Ida to gather this information?

“Don’t be so chary. Of course she’s reliable. Ida stands to profit too.” Miss O’Bryan regarded Kat, who tried to look engrossed in the magazine. “Gotta run. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the listening piece and looked at Kat. “How may I help you?”

Kat stood. Smoothing her skirt, she walked toward the desk. “I’m Kat Cutshaw.”

“Ida’s sister.” Mollie glanced at the side table as if she’d seen Kat’s article in
Harper’s
, or that Ida had pointed it out to her. “The magazine writer.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Miss O’Bryan wore her hair parted low on the left side and pulled back in waves. “I haven’t had time to read the article you wrote, but it looked interesting enough.”

Unsure how to answer such a statement, Kat smiled and looked up at the clock above the door. “I’d hoped to find Ida here before she left for lunch.”

“She’s taking dictation over at Colin Wagner’s office. She’ll be done by noon.”

That was ten minutes from now.

“Tell her I said she could have an hour for lunch today,” Miss O’Bryan added.

“I will. Thank you.”

Twenty minutes later, Kat sat across from Ida at a corner table in the Third Street Café.

“I’m glad you thought of this.” Ida unfolded the napkin in front of her and slid it onto her lap.

“I am too. I knew I’d see you on Sunday, but I didn’t want to wait that long.”

Ida tugged at the cuffs on her dark blue jacket. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, mostly. Midday seems my best time.” Kat removed her napkin from the table.

Ida looked out the window. “Do you think we’ll have more rain today?”

The last time Kat could remember having such a polite conversation with Ida was on their carriage ride to the train depot in Portland. She and Nell were leaving for Cripple Creek, and Ida discussed anything and everything except the good-byes that loomed before them. Kat lifted her water glass. “Are you afraid I’m going to talk about Colin Wagner or Tucker Raines? Or are you more concerned that I’ll bring up Judson’s questions?”

“Yes.” A dare mingled with a warning in Ida’s steely blue eyes.

Kat looked away and sipped her water, as much for fortification as to quench her thirst. She met her sister’s gaze. “Lest I be called unpredictable, I say we talk about men. My man, actually. Morgan is giving a piano concert at the Butte Opera House later this month.”

Ida sighed. “Saturday, the twenty-fourth of October?”

“You already know about it?”

“I didn’t know he was the featured pianist, but, yes, I know about the concert. I plan to attend with a group of colleagues.”

“Colin Wagner?”

“Along with Mollie and Mr. Miller.”

“Then we’ll see you there. Hattie, Nell, and Judson are going too.”

Ida peered at her over the top of her teacup. “You agree with him, don’t you?”

Kat straightened the fork in her place setting. “Some people don’t agree with the way Mollie obtains information.” She paused. “When I arrived at your office, I overheard Mollie talking on the telephone to a man she called Charles. It sounded like she was buying stock based upon what you’d learned from a client.”

“Very likely.” Ida raised her napkin and dabbed her mouth. “We have a job to do, and we do it. We listen and learn. There’s nothing wrong with acting upon what you know. That’s what you’re doing right now. You overheard Mollie’s conversation and you’re passing on the information.”

Kat leaned forward and spoke just above a whisper. “Ida, you and I both know there’s more to your work than that. Not everyone buying and selling stocks has your advantage.”

Ida looked out the window again, worrying her jaw. “Perhaps we should talk about my niece or nephew.”

Kat wanted to protect Ida from making a mistake, from possible heartache, but that wasn’t her role as a younger sister. She sighed and pondered an agreeable change of subject. “Do you have any ideas for baby names?”

“The name
Ida
will soon be available. It seems my work with Mollie has brought me a new name—
Mud.
”

When Ida began laughing, Kat’s giggle deepened. If laughter could delay the inevitable storm that surrounded her sister’s involvement with Mollie O’Bryan, Kat was all for it.

EIGHTEEN

ucker made the post office his first stop in town Wednesday morning. He handed his letter to the balding postmaster and accepted an envelope in return.

Not another bill, please
.

Tucker’s gaze fixed on the return address. Surely the asylum wouldn’t send a second statement this soon after the first. Willow’s attendant must have sent a report. His pulse quickening, he slid his finger beneath the seal.

In the two years since his father had given up on Willow and decided to have her hospitalized, Tucker’s prayers had changed. They had shifted from confident requests for a swift and complete healing to fragile pleas for even the slightest hint of hope. Breathing that prayer again, Tucker stood at the end of the post office counter and pulled out a single sheet of stationery.

Dear Mr. Raines,

We understand why you had to go, but we do miss your visits. Wednesdays aren’t the same without hearing you sing to your sister and speak to her as if she would reply.

No one missed his visits more than he did. Even though Willow didn’t respond to his presence, he at least felt like he was doing something. Here, away from her completely, he felt helpless.

We all commend you for the faithful chain of letters you’ve sent to Willow.

A chain of letters
. That was all he had to offer her. If he’d been a good brother, he would’ve saved her husband.

Tucker drew in a deep breath, praying for the strength to read the words he’d heard week after week:
no engaged change
.

Mr. Raines, I am pleased to provide you with news of a change in your sister’s condition. A small change to be sure, but a step forward nonetheless.

Yesterday after I read your most recent letter to Willow, I witnessed a response from her. Willow smiled, and a few words rang out.

Tears stung Tucker’s eyes, and he blinked to clear his vision so he could continue reading. Willow had smiled. She’d even spoken. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter.

You wrote to her about Colorado. The mountains and the aspens and the people you were meeting. You wrote about taking her to see Colorado when she’s recovered.

Tucker remembered his words well. He’d told her he could see her, sketch pad in hand, not knowing what to draw first.

I’d just finished reading your name in the close of the letter, when Willow pointed her finger at me and said, “The Peak. Tell Tucker.”

Blinking did nothing to stay Tucker’s tears. They rolled down his face and he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket.

Mind you, this was a slight and single occurrence, but your sister did react. The doctors view it as a sign she is ready to begin reconnection.

Tucker felt hope lifting the burden from his shoulders and softening the tension in his jaw. Willow was beginning to respond.
“The Peak. Tell Tucker.”
He finally had something to add to the last words he’d heard her say.

“Thank You, Lord,” he whispered.

“Mr. Raines?” The familiar voice sent warmth up his spine. Tucker turned to look into the face of a woman he’d last seen in Colin Wagner’s office, a clear object of interest for the attorney. Her brow wrinkled and her jaw shifted left, then right. She wasn’t pleased to see him, and he didn’t blame her. She’d heard him reveal the mess he was in with his father’s business and then practically beg Mr. Wagner for money.

“Miss Sinclair. Hello.”

“You received the completed prospectus from Mr. Wagner?”

“Yes. Thank you again for your help. Mr. Miller has it. Now I wait for investors.”

“I’m sure plenty of people will snatch up the ice company’s stock, especially given Cripple Creek’s considerable growth.”

“I hope you’re correct.”

She smoothed the collar on her purple floral dress. “I seem quite adept at arriving just in time for your discussions with the Lord.”

“That, you do.” He felt his face flush, remembering the last time Ida had walked up on one of his prayers. He’d extended a sudden invitation to join him for coffee, which she’d just as quickly refused. No wonder, given her interest in Mr. Wagner.

“Do you make a habit of vocal and public conversations with Him?”

“Not always.”

“Not that I mind.” She glanced at the letter he held. “You’ve received good news in the mail?”

“Yes, very good news.”

She loosed the top button on the wool mantle that draped her narrow shoulders and looked at him, waiting.

“My sister is showing some slight improvement.” Tucker folded the letter and slid it into the envelope.

“I didn’t realize you had siblings.”

“Just one older sister.”

“And she’s been ill?”

He nodded, wondering how much to tell her. He felt comfortable talking to Miss Ida Sinclair, but he’d already shared too many personal details, especially as she seemed interested in another man.